


IKIGAI.

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Disassociation, Embry is a Dork, F/M, Fluff, Imprinting (Twilight), No Smut, References to Depression, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21
Summary: Embry Call, your best friend, ignores you for nearly three weeks. A brief second of eye-contact has him begging for your forgiveness. Now, he won’t leave you alone, and you’re not so sure you want him to.
Relationships: Embry Call/Reader, Embry Call/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 84





	IKIGAI.

**Author's Note:**

> Embry and the Reader are eighteen in this fic for reasons. There are suggestive themes and mentions of depression. The imagery gets more vivid toward the end. It gets a bit hot and heavy, but even if it’s just heavy kissing and roaming hands, I still advise that you proceed with caution.

You give up easily, that’s just how you are. So, when your best friend, Embry Call, hadn’t shown up for two weeks, and then decided to add fuel to the flames by actively avoiding you even when he came back to school, looking like an Adonis, that innate source to all of your problem-solving had swooped in and took control. 

Giving up, no matter how badly attached you are to something, is your go-to coping mechanism. It doesn’t matter if the cause of it is none other than _him_. Because, at this point, you were way past trying to make amends even though you had no idea what you did to deserve it. 

When Embry came back to school, he had changed. Scarily enough, at the sight of him, walking through those doubled doors, standing in between Jared Cameron and Paul Lahote with that, admittedly beautiful, guarded expression, you hadn’t recognized him whatsoever. There’d been a stabbing pain in your chest in that moment and something akin to a petty rage filled you from head-to-toe. 

You hadn’t even tried to talk to him—it had been obvious that he didn’t want to talk to you. Fine by you. If Embry would act like a jerk, you’d be pleased to reciprocate it. Some childish part of you wanted to make him hurt, and throughout your two years of knowing him, you hadn’t thought there’d be a time where you would become someone who wanted to purposely inflict pain on someone—especially not him. Not Embry. Not ever. 

Although, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t felt some sort of fleeting hope whenever you felt that lonely gaze drilling into the back of your head every once in a while. 

It doesn’t matter now. 

The moment you realized he wasn’t your best friend any longer had been the day you turned it all off. You were a walking corpse in the halls with the utmost dead, dreary eyes, unglazed, dull and a permanent expression of emptiness. 

Today is no different. 

As you slew your way out of the building, you notice the light drizzle of rain. And, not so far off, in the distance, near a familiar truck, Embry and his new _‘friends’_. 

Upon exiting, the entirety of them glance up, and for a split second, you and Embry lock eyes. Just a zap of brief eye-contact, and it changes _everything_. 

After directing your focus back to the ground, and forcing your legs to move, you make your way out onto the road, acutely aware of the sensation of someone watching you. You almost stop and turn back around just to look at him—to reaffirm that he’s still staring, a strange buzzing need to know that he is _there_. For the sake of your dignity, you ignore the feeling as best as you can, but it seems the farther away you are, the feeling only intensifies to the point where it’s nearly unbearable. You curl your hands into fists, not wanting to give into the blind chase. 

And that’s when it starts to pour. 

You get about halfway down the road when you hear the sound of tires squealing against pavement. The sound of tires pealing your way has your heart lurching up into your throat. And then that’s when you hear it: the unmistakable sound of your name. 

In the corner of your eye, you see the truck pull up beside you carefully. Nearly instantly, the voice calls your name again, seemingly breathless even over the white noise of the rain. 

You whirl around, casting a deliberate look of impassiveness toward the driver. He stares at you for a brief second before finally, hastily rolling down the passenger side window. 

“Hey.” 

“What?” 

“I said—”

“I heard you. I meant, what did you want?” 

Somehow, he’s still able to hear you perfectly over the harsh downpour. His smile is too wide for someone who’s been intentionally avoiding you for almost three weeks. 

“Can I give you a ride?” 

You don’t even hesitate to answer. “No, thank you.” 

As soon as you turn back around and continue waking, he trails after you. The sound of muffled cursing is all you hear right before he stammers out your name pleadingly. 

“W-wait—” 

“You’re going to hold up traffic.” Idiot. 

“But there isn’t any.” He sounds confused, poor baby. 

“Then go home.” 

The silence that stretches between you is weighted with a slow-climbing hesitance. “You’re upset.” 

Your answering scoff prompts him to skid to a stop. The resounding crack of his door slamming shut upon his hasty departure forces you to pick up speed. 

“Can you just—just _wait!”_

His hand latches onto your forearm, whirling you around to face him. The light in his eyes seems to dull greatly as they frantically jump between both of yours. No mistaking the emptiness there. 

“I think—I think I’m doing this wrong.” He slowly releases his hold on you, but not without reluctance. 

You bite back another scoff. _That’s an understatement_. 

He seems strangely adamant on keeping you here. For whatever reason, you have no idea. But the nearly demented gleam in his eyes as they flicker across every inch of your face is the only thing keeping you rooted to your spot. You no longer hear the sound of the rain, and you can barely even feel it soak through your clothes. 

He viciously blinks away the fallen raindrops collecting at his eyelashes. “Look, I… I’m sorry. For everything. But—” his gaze drops down to observe your shivering form with a deep look of concern marring his features— “Let me take you home. Please.” 

You hesitate, bouncing back and forth between the offer of warmth in your former best friend’s truck and walking home in the icy coldness. He _did_ apologize; however, his forced absence had deeply affected you to the point of self-isolation. You’d stooped so low, so far past the line of low to a point where you thought you’d never end up. _He_ did that. He was the one that clipped that tether and let you hang in your desolation. 

Something moving in the corner of your eye has you snapping to attention. “Embry?” 

His gaze softens inexplicably down at you. “Yeah?” 

“Your truck’s rolling into a ditch.” 

He whirls around and curses under his breath, practically leaping toward his slowly descending truck. You use his distraction to your advantage, continuing on down the road. 

His words are strained as he wheedles his truck away from the ditch. “Wait, don’t go! Just—ah, let me—”

“Leave me alone, Embry.” 

Tires crunch over gravel as he approaches your side while keeping a safe distance. That was quick. 

“Let me give you a ride home,” he says, his words laced with such a squeezing desperation that has your mind staggering breathlessly. “Please? I’d feel like crap if you got sick.” 

_It’s just rain_ , you want to say. _Rain isn’t evil_. 

You hate the way your form shakes from the unrelenting sting of raindrops. Resignation fights mercilessly against self-will. It’s like a thread that keeps tugging you back to him, strangling you into submission. 

“Please, I’ll—I’ll explain everything.” 

“What if I don’t want you to?” You know your words will have the desired effect. “What if I’ve already given up?” 

“Then I’ll give you a reason not to,” he vows fiercely. 

His words tempt you right back, stabbing a jagged blade full of hope straight through your soul. 

To your horror, you realize that you’ve already made up your mind. With a sigh, you make your way over to the passenger side of his truck and climb in. Embry’s already messing around with the heater before you’ve even shut the door, glancing at you as you force as much space between the two of you as you can. A blast of warm air hits your face and you shudder involuntarily. 

Embry notices this, because he seems to be hyper-wired to your every move. With one hand on the wheel, and his eyes trained on the road with an eerie concentration, he reaches toward the backseat and swings back around into his seat. 

“Put this on,” he urges gently, handing you the midnight black hoodie. His midnight black hoodie. 

You take it without argument, catching the way his cheeks strain into a grin at your compliance. 

“Thanks,” you mumble and, without falter, slip it over your head. The hoodie is big—two sizes too big—as it swaddles your form comfortably. Once you have your hands through the sleeves, you bundle them up into fists, bringing them up to your face. 

“Yeah, no—no problem.” Embry smothers down something unintelligible, a guttural sound deep in his chest, but you’re too absorbed in the feel of the soft cotton melting into your skin to take proper notice. 

His scent nearly overwhelms you. It never had this sort of impact on you before. It’s dizzying. A blend of cocoa butter and his natural everyday musk. 

Sighing contently, you sink further down into the seat and lean your head on the window. Your eyes subconsciously flit over to Embry, and it’s then that you finally make out the way he has his hands tightly gripped around the steering wheel and the dark tint to his cheeks as he stares intently at the road, almost like he’s keeping himself from looking at you. Your forehead creases subtly at the shift in mood. 

That thread gives a mighty tug. Belatedly, you recognize the emotion slithering through your veins as longing. You give an experimental yank at the imaginary thread, and watch, mortified, as Embry’s entire form clamps up in response. He casts a wary side glance at you, cheeks now the darkest you’ve seen beneath his russet tone. 

“Are you okay?” You tread unsurely. 

“Are you?” 

A brow ticks upward. “I asked you first.” 

“I asked you second.” You can hear the playful undertone. See that goofy smile peeking out from behind his dimples. 

A drawn tone of exasperation. “ _Embry_.” 

He moves his head to glance at you this time, and it’s then you realize his pupils are blown black. A stare tinged with such an intense affection that it has the hairs on your arms standing on end, trailing with gooseflesh. He seems almost thrown by your persistence. 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs placatingly. He forces himself to look back at the road. Turns a corner attentively. Grips the steering wheel again. And then parts his lips, beginning hesitantly, “So, how was school?” 

The eyeroll comes naturally. “You don’t really care about that, do you?” 

He flinches as if your words had been a sharp slap to the face. “I care about _you_ ,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear it. 

“Sorry. Didn’t notice,” you reply automatically. 

The expression on his face is nothing short of miserable. Something sick and desperate claws at your throat when you catch the telltale sign of his sorrow, his tears held back just at the corners of his eyes. 

You grip onto the sleeves of his hoodie and force your focus back to the passenger window. “I’m not the bad guy here,” you assert firmly. “You can’t make me feel guilty when I’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“I know,” he chokes out, sounding wretched. “I’m so sorry.” 

You fight back the urge to reach across the console and hug him. “I know you are. I just—” 

“You need time.” 

“Yeah.” You carefully blank your face. “Will you give me that?” 

“I’ll give you anything— _everything_.” He sniffles piteously. “I just want you to be happy.”

His words leave a peculiar aftertaste on your tongue, but you don’t let it show as you drag your gaze back over to him. “How about you start with getting me home in one piece?” 

* * *

Embry had lingered in your driveway for a good five minutes after dropping you off. You know this because you had watched him through your window. That was three hours ago. 

Three hours ago, but you still can’t get him off your mind. You have no idea why, but ever since he offered you a drive home, all you can think about is the way he’d been so adamant to make you happy. His odd behavior, the way he wanted to appease you—and the way he had said he would do anything for you. What had gotten into him? 

You guess it’s the hormones, or possibly the longing you’ve held over his head for weeks, that’s the reason for your current predicament. You tried to focus on your homework. You couldn’t. He’s become your default thought. 

There’s really no explanation for why you’re standing outside his house in the pouring rain this very second. 

No explanation at all. 

You ring his doorbell once. Panic. Begin to turn away. 

The moment the door opens, you swivel back around, truly regretting your decision. 

He looks exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, blotchy cheeks, though still stunning. A searing heat shoots through belly at the sight of his shirtless form. Muscles stretching, highlighting his abs. Baggy sweats hanging loosely off his hips, showcasing his Adonis belt, curving beautifully. 

He levels you with a devastating smile, your name falling from his lips breathlessly. 

There’s no denying that you are soul-shatteringly attracted to him. 

“Is everything okay? What are you doing out in the rain?” His voice is throaty as his eyes do a quick head-to-toe inspection. When you take too long to answer him, he takes a step outside, closing the door softly behind him. He calls your name again, now tinged with worry. “What’s wrong?” 

With movements that seem far too controlled to be your own, you stand on your tiptoes, lean in, and close the distance. 

Embry goes unerringly still only for about five seconds before he meets the greedy measure of your lips with a slow-agonizing tenderness. You’re practically mauling him with your mouth, fingers carding through his short dark strands, tugging, while his hands steady themselves on your waist, fingers like soft petals against the drenched fabric of your shirt. 

Here, now, you feel an overwhelming surge of relief, but the type of relief that’s all-consuming, reverberating, suffocating—in a strangely good way. 

His tongue delves past your parted lips and strokes yours tantalizingly. He hums almost thoughtfully, preserving the taste of you, and you downright moan into him. He vigorously slides his hands beneath your shirt; the warmth of his hands against your skin causes you to flounder as the realization of just what you’re doing slams into you like a freight train. 

You pull back, mortified, but he keeps trying to sway after you, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded, glazed over feverishly, pupils dilated. 

His throat gives a visible bob. “Why’d you stop?” 

“I can’t believe I just did that,” you cry softly, eyes widening as you level them at his collarbones. 

He exhales tremulously, breathes in deep, then swallows once more. “It’s okay,” he says, voice hoarse and uncannily stimulating. 

“No, no. I’m supposed to be mad at you. I-I’m supposed to be—what is wrong with me? I basically just attacked you on your front porch.” 

Embry’s hands slide up, knuckles grazing the side of your breasts. His breath hitches. “You’re not wearing a bra.” 

You bite back a moan. “Embry…” 

He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin, and _oh God_ , you think it’s making you high. 

“Go on a date with me.” His breaths come out in ragged pants. 

“I can’t.” 

He ruts his hips into yours, hoists your thigh up the slightest. “Why not?” 

You squeeze your eyes tight when he nips gently at your earlobe. “Because I’m… I’m…” The feel of his lips on your skin has you immensely distracted. “God, you’re so warm.” 

He laps at the space behind your ear, voice raspy as he says nearly pleadingly, “I’ll let you do anything you want with me. Just…” An involuntary shudder ripples through him and he holds you closer, so close that you can feel the erratic beating of his heart and the unmistakable bulge in his sweats. “Go on a date with me. Let me make you happy. I know I can. Please.” 

At your hesitance, he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jaw, your cheeks, eyelids. His nose brushes clumsily against yours as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking lightly. You feel like you’re drowning in him. 

“Wait,” you murmur into his mouth. “Why… how can this feel—”

“I know,” he assures, nuzzling your cheek. He breathes in deeply. “Let me make you feel good.” 

Your brows furrow in gentle contemplation. “And you’ll explain this? You’ll tell me why I feel this way?” 

“I’ll tell you everything,” he concedes. “Just go on a date with me.” 

“Why can’t you tell me now?” 

He pulls back and cradles your face in the palm of his hands, leveling you with a look that should be reserved for the creation of the stars. There’s a playful crease in his forehead. “You’re so stubborn,” he states lovingly, lips quirking in warm amusement. 

“Embry,” you sigh, tone saddened. “You have to tell me, or I’ll go crazy. I mean, you come back to school and it’s like you’re this—this different person. You’ve changed.” 

His expression turns severe, muttering gravely, “I know.” His thumb strokes distractedly across your cheekbones. “I’ll tell you. I promise.” 

And for the first time in three weeks, you smile. 


End file.
